


Rhythm Masters

by Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)



Category: Mighty Boosh (TV), Planetary - Warren Ellis
Genre: Banter, Crossover, Gen, Musical Number, Yuletide, Yuletide 2011, slice-of-life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 22:28:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/pseuds/Aris%20Merquoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something's been wrong all day with Vince's rhythm. Howard thinks that Vince could use some more coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rhythm Masters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Liviapenn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liviapenn/gifts).



> Thanks to my betas, and to #yuletide IRC who are always super supportive!

Howard Moon shut the shop door and watched the sign bang against the glass. Then he flipped it over. Then he flipped it back. "Something's wrong," he said.

"Yeah, I think something's been wrong all day," Vince said. He was perched in the barber's chair with his feet on the seat, tapping his fingers against his legs. "All my rhythm's gone."

"Your rhythm?" Howard asked.

"Yeah, y'know, the beat? It's deserted me." Vince tapped his hands against his glittery platform boots despondently. He alternated between a 3/4 and a 4/4 beat, but not in any kind of slick, practiced way, more like he was forgetting the timing halfway through a phrase. His hands slowly lost their impetus for motion and fluttered like unhappy birds in a slushstorm against his ankles.

"That's okay, though," Howard said. "My rhythm seems to be okay."

"Your rhythm stinks," Vince said. "Your rhythm's like a drunken Welshman in a tumble dryer. You don't understand what it's like to have timing. You can't even dance."

"I can too dance," Howard said.

"No you can't."

"Remember the last time I was on a dance floor? I cleared it," Howard said.

Vince shook his head. "That's because people had to get out of the way of your flailing," he said. "You'd got out your pocketwatch and were whipping it about on its chain. You nearly gave a girl concussion."

Howard shifted uncomfortably. "I was in my groove, Vince. It's not my fault people weren't responding to my energies."

Vince opened his mouth again, then tucked his head against his knees. His shiny black hair flopped against the white vinyl of his jumpsuit. "You know," he said after a second, "Normally I'd say something quite witty back to you, but my rhythm's been all messed up."

"Oh, don't worry, Vince," Howard said. "You'll snap out of it."

"No, I don't think so. You know I haven't been able to tell a joke all day?"

Howard blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Like, knock knock,"

"Who's there?"

"Princess--oh, now I've already screwed it up."

Howard frowned. "Well, my jokes have all worked today. Nothing's different."

Vince picked his head up and frowned at his friend. "Okay, then, you try. Tell me a joke."

Howard cleared his throat and nodded. "All right," he said. He rubbed his hands together, then began. "I once played in a club that was so small..."

Vince waited for a second, until he was sure he was supposed to come in, then chimed in, "How small was it, Howard?"

"Right, well, it was so small--and I know you get judgmental at times, Vince, but this was a favor for a friend, and besides you know if you don't play at least once a month it... enh, it looks bad, right?" Howard squinched up his face for a moment, then continued talking. "So yes, and besides, Vince, you know every gig is practice anyway, and so when we got there and we tried to set up the drums, the owner said, 'Sorry, that's where the audience goes.'"

Vince blinked at him.

Howard grinned, then said, "That was shit."

"Yeah, you're right, no change," Vince said.

"So what have you found that's so different?" Howard asked.

"I don't know how to explain it!" Vince jumped out of the chair and spun around, then tried a shimmy and a shoulder roll. "It's just not clicking."

"Well, I'm going to have some coffee, d'you want some?" Howard said. "I can do you up a latte if you want."

Vince tilted his head back and sighed. "No, I don't want a latte, Howard."

"You always struck me as the latte type," Howard said. "I'm surprised at you."

"No, I just like coffee," Vince said.

"No cappuccino? No americano?" Howard said, heading back to the abnormally large steam-powered espresso machine in the back of the shop. "I'm thinking of actually selling this stuff, you know. In the shop. Like a sideline."

"Ah, I think that's a terrible idea," Vince said. "This is the Nabootique, bits and bobs and collectibles. Not librarians in tweed jackets and ugly jumpers. We've got to look out for the style of the place." He tried another spin and balanced on his heels for a second, then dropped down flat-footed and dejected. "Though if I can't get my rhythm back I guess it won't matter much."

The espresso machine made a sputtering, gurgling noise. Vince rolled his eyes and tried to jive, to just throw something together.

"Got a problem in my toes  
Got a problem, 's how it goes  
Got a problem in my feet  
Got a problem, it ain't neat..."

Vince bobbed and wove, scuffed his platforms on the floor. It almost felt like it was coming back to him.

"Rhythm section's gone to sleep  
Can't get groovin' to a funky beat  
Gotta dance but I can't get down  
'Stead I feel just like a--"

"OUCH!" Howard shouted. Vince looked up to see him waving his hand and grimacing. "Burned myself on the steam... thingy."

"Clown," Vince said. "Oh, it's no use."

"That's because your brain isn't ticking over, Vince," Howard said. He raised his glass of latte and took a sip from it, then winced. "Ow. Burned... tongue."

The door opened. "We're clothed!" Howard called out, then winced again. "Closed... I mean... also clothed. Burned my tongue. Sorry."

The guy who stepped inside had shoulder-length brown hair, kinda mousy, and was wearing a pastel-bright orange jacket over a purple shirt and green trousers. He pulled a pair of drumsticks out from behind his back and twirled them in his hands. "That's okay," he said in an American accent. "I'm not buying anything, I'm just tracking some noise down. That's cool, right?"

"Noise?" Howard said, confused.

"Nice look going," Vince said. "I'm Vince Noir, this is Howard Moon. What's your name?"

"I'm The Drummer," the guy said. "Nice to meet you."

Howard frowned at him. "Drummer? You're in a band?"

"No, I'm just The Drummer," The Drummer said. He spun his drumsticks again and started tapping out a beat on the barber's chair. "Nice place you got here."

Vince listened to the beat the Drummer was tapping out for a few seconds. "Hey, you got a pretty nice rhythm going."

"Thanks," The Drummer said. "Hey, you guys notice anything weird around here?"

Howard's eyes shifted back and forth. "Weird as compared to..."

"Yeah," Vince cut in. "The shop's lost its rhythm."

Howard sighed. "Vince, that's not a real thing."

"Hmmm," The Drummer said. He turned around and tapped on Vince's arm with his drumsticks.

"Hey, that tickles," Vince said.

The Drummer tapped up and down Vince's arm, then nodded. "No, he's right. The information flows in this shop are all messed up."

"Can you find out what happened?" Vince asked.

The Drummer spun his right drumstick and then rattled out a quick beat in 6/8 time. "Probably. Gimme a minute to read the beat?"

"Sure," Vince said, sticking out his arm. "You need any help?"

Howard shook his head. "Seriously, Vince. What would you be helping with?"

"Yeah, actually," the Drummer said. "Can you give me a melody to work with?"

"Yeah, let me get my gear," Vince said.

In a jump cut Vince had his synth out and was laying down some tunes over the Drummer's beat. Howard was frowning at the scene, sipping his latte and leaning against the counter.

"Got a rhythm section," Vince sang. "Rhythm... vivi-section..."

The Drummer slipped in some syncopation.

"My rhythm's been Sectioned..." Vince ad-libbed.

The Drummer frowned and tapped down the counter in Howard's direction.

"Rhythm... intersection... hey what are you doing?" Vince asked as The Drummer tapped very gently against Howard's cup.

The Drummer looked up. "I think I've found your rhythm problem, Vince."

Vince's eyes went wide.

Howard looked down at the Drummer, then stepped back and raised his free hand. "Now, just wait a minute."

"Howard can't be my rhythm problem," Vince said. "Howard's my best mate. He's been with me my whole life. He keeps my soft chewy center protected from the cold hard facts of life. He's in my band!"

" _He's_ in _my_ band," Howard corrected.

"I can't get rid of Howard," Vince continued. "Not even for my rhythm. Not even for my dancing." He paused, thought that over for a minute, then nodded. "Right. Not even for the dancing."

Howard looked at Vince with new appreciation. "Wow. That... that means a lot to me. Thank you, Vince."

"I mean, if it was a fashion problem, that'd obviously be different," Vince clarified.

"Thank you, Vince," Howard muttered.

"Okay, as moved as I am by all this bro-ness," The Drummer said, "The problem isn't with Howard, the problem is with the coffee."

Vince and Howard looked down into the coffee cup.

"Oh," Vince said.

"What's wrong with my coffee?" Howard asked.

The Drummer opened his mouth, then closed it again. "It would actually take a really long time to explain," he said. "The short version is it's evil."

"I never liked that coffee maker," Vince said.

"But..." Howard said, looking at the espresso machine with hurt and betrayal in his eyes. "That's my espresso machine. It was going to be so beautiful."

"Nope, it's gotta die," The Drummer said. "Hey, Jakita?"

The door opened again, and Howard and Vince turned to stare at the silhouetted figure. She strutted forward into the store and posed in front of the counter.

"That," Vince said, "is a fierce jumpsuit. Where'd you get it?"

"Hi," Howard said. "I'm Howard Moon, and I'm the shopkeeper. Would... would you like some coffee? I can make coffee."

"Coffee, Drums?" the woman said.

The Drummer jerked his drumsticks at the espresso machine. "Coffee."

"Cool," the woman said, and then grabbed the espresso machine and hoisted it over her head.

Howard made a kind of yelp.

The woman swaggered back to the door and threw the machine out into the street. After a few seconds, there was a loud crashing noise.

"Well, there's that," The Drummer said. "Thanks, guys."

"My..." Howard said. He watched as The Drummer saluted and walked away.

"Woah, I think it's already working," Vince said. "I feel a lot better!"

"Espresso," Howard said. He staggered out from behind the counter and toward the door.

"And wow, you know, that really wrapped up quickly," Vince said. "Usually our adventures are like half an hour long, and that barely took five minutes."

"Machine," Howard said.

"Yeah, sorry, Howard," Vince said. "I know you liked it. I'll help you buy a new one that's not evil, okay?"

"No, I mean, there's a gigantic alien machine in the middle of the road outside the shop," Howard said.

Vince laughed. "I spoke too soon about the five minutes thing, I guess. C'mon, let's check it out."


End file.
